Welcome Back
by Kipcha
Summary: When Batman disappeared from Gotham, the Joker remained locked up in Arkham as the only patient. However, when the Bat returns, the Joker is only too eager to come out and play, only to find himself too late and facing off against some fake Knight named Robin. Oh no, this will not do. Will the real Batman please stand up? Set after TDKR.
1. Chapter 1

_Alright, first attempt at writing in the Batman Nolanverse and I am super excited for it. The idea popped into my head while watching The Dark Knight yet again. It always kind of bothered me that there wasn't a mention of the Joker in The Dark Knight Rises, although I completely understand why they did it._

_So I started thinking about how it was rumored that the Joker was the only remaining patient in Arkham Asylum. Why would he still be there? Then, thinking about it, if there was no Batman, would he really see a point in escaping? This cover's some of Joker's time in Arkham and what leads to the events of his escape, as well as his quest to find Batman once more._

* * *

Black.

Coated his fingers, the paper, the table, everything.

He chuckled to himself, scribbling away on the sheet of paper like a child with an art project. He knew they were watching, always watching, but he didn't care. He was a performer, after all. It was only natural that he should be observed at all times. As the lone patient of Arkham Asylum for the past 3,285 days, he was all these simple minded guards and doctors had to keep themselves entertained. A breathy giggle escaped him again as he muttered to himself. The Dent Act had sent hundreds of prisoners to Blackgate prison, leaving little ol' him the only resident of good old Arkham A.

He breathed deeply, holding up his newest piece of art, leaning back in his chair with ease. The symbol, _his_ symbol, that haunted his every thought, every crevice of his twisted mind, his dreams, even wallpapered his room from top to bottom. It made him excited and furious and thrilled all at the same time, just thinking about_ him_.

The Bat Man.

He nodded with approval, licking his lips in appreciation, placing the black finger paint (The only artistic tools he was allowed after attempting to gouge out a guards eye with a crayon) on the table and gingerly setting the moist paper down.

At first, he had escaped, keeping things quieter to draw in old Bats. A few bodies here, an arson there and yet the old Bat never did appear. Not once.

He started to get frustrated. He could of at least sent a note, maybe some flowers. After all, he had done all this just for him, leaving clues of his presence at the scenes. But no, not even a phone call. Rude.

He had been about to make a larger public appearance, infuriated with the lack of response from his nemesis when that damned Gordon actually managed to do his job successfully for once and wound him up back in here. When he was told that the Batman was truly no more... Well, he had to admit, he felt a little lost. He knew liars and even without his simple toys of torture, he could tell the beaten down cop was telling the truth. If anyone would know, it would be Lieutenant fucking Gordon.

He debated escaping again. It would have been all too easy, even with all the fancy gadgets and uneasy guards Sharpy hired, he could have done it. But when he vanished, without a trace, after the fateful night of his capture, it just... Didn't seem like there was a point. Who would attend a play where only one star of a pair was present? Without the Batman, the Joker's unstoppable force would just keep passing through, destroying every little thing in its path. It would be fun for a while but he would hit the same block as he did before... He needed that equal now. Things were just too easy without _him_.

Bo-_ring_.

The only link he had to the outside world were the small window in his cell overlooking the city and the occasional newspaper he managed to threaten or bribe off the weaker guards. Every night he would sit by that damned window and watch the skies, seeking out that bat shaped shadow in the sky, calling him. He knew the day that beacon returned, it would call more than just the Batman. But until that day, the Joker would wait. Despite what his psychological evaluation might say, he was a patient man.

Months ago the bridges leading into Gotham were blown to bits and he had heard the guards panicking, their family and friends now trapped within the hungry bowels of Gotham city without escape, apparently at the mercy of some madman named Bane.

_This city deserves a better class of criminal._

The words echoed through his mind as he had watched the only real escape routes collapsed, explosions raining through the city and sending shivers of fury through the Joker's spine. The sight of explosions was thrilling in its own way, he always loved watching destruction in broad daylight, but this man had no idea how to take over a city. Too messy. You didn't need it all. He himself had managed to steer people clear of the bridges with just a few simple words of a news report. Now that was power, power that only _he_ held over Gotham.

No.

Oh no, this would not do.

Gotham was his city, whether he was there or not.

Tittering absentmindedly to himself, the Joker's mind began to race.

Time to get out of this rotting Asylum.

Time to reclaim what was his.

His city needed him.

* * *

He had been a fairly good boy, spent his days doodling on his paper and eating in the mess hall, obeying the Neanderthal guards and putting up with the interrogation of those fucking doctors, so consumed in himself to really cause too much trouble... The loss of a guard or too wasn't too big of a deal, that was months ago anyways. They probably would not suspect a thing.

He watched and planned, looking over weaknesses in the groups around him and picking out the ones he could make bend and the ones that he would need to kill should the time arise. It wasn't hard to pick them out, it was the skill that always proved the most useful to him. Which to take and which to end, he always knew.

He had never been wrong.

He knew the time to leave was fast approaching as he gazed out the window. He felt the tiniest of thrills go up his spine as what had been his nightly entertainment for the past few months began to move out onto the ice. Ahh, his plan could wait a few minutes, this had been the highlight of his day for weeks, waiting to see when these fools would finally break through.

Then it all happened so fast. Some of the men on the shore fell (The Joker felt a leap of excitement in his belly, the sight of henchmen randomly falling a familiar sight. Could it be?), a red flare was lit and tossed on the ice. The sparks caught and flame wove up towards the bridge, rising, rising, rising...

Before the burst of flame revealed something that sent the Joker into a fit of hysterical laughter.

"Finally!" He screeched, practically dancing around his room, hardly willing to believe his eyes. He looked again, hardly believing after all these years, he was finally back. It was truly there, burning brilliantly in the night, for all of Gotham to see.

He moved to his bed, rummaging under the mattress and finding the tiny hole that hid his weapon. He shoved his fingers inside, probing until he finally found his prize. He grabbed it and pulled, quickly moving it into his shoe, almost regretting the loss of seeing the light glint off the small but deadly blade. He threw a satisfied glance to the camera suspended in the corner of the room, but if these fools were anywhere near as stupid as he believed, which they were, they would all be too distracted by the beautiful sight just outside the window to have seen any of that. They were so easily distracted.

He moved back to his window, the flame lighting something inside him as well.

At last. At last.

He was back.

It wasn't long to wait before a guard rushed in, obviously in a hurry to remove him from his cell. Almost as if he hadn't already seen the glorious sight that the window held.

This would be too easy.

* * *

Quincy Sharp walked through the halls of his Asylum, breathing deeply at the sight of all the empty cells, once filled with raving lunatics and blood-thirsty murderers. Ever since they took them all he felt quite... Empty.

But no matter, he still held the most important card in the deck. He intended to keep the Joker there no matter what the cost.

He entered the guard's break room and felt an immediate sense of unease. So many men staring out a window at a sight they saw every day could not be a good thing.

"What is it?" He questioned, moving forward to see.

A few of the guards jumped slightly, moving back out of his way. "Sir, on the bridge. You might want to see this."

Sharp wasted no time wading through the men, trying to see exactly what had gotten them all so wound up.

The bat insignia, burning bright and brilliant over Gotham. Beautiful and yet...

"Get the Joker, put him in solitary." Sharp commanded, turning to his men. The Joker had been oddly content to sit in his cell, but this... This would no doubt be just the thing he needed... "NOW! No windows, no lights, no talking to him, understood!"

They nodded, moving quickly and efficiently to follow orders.

The needed to get this under control before something happened. They needed him contained, under control and th-

"AHHHHHHHH!"

As panicked yells began to fill the air, Quincy Sharp knew he was in for a very long night.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Hello, this is 911 dispatch emergency, how ma-"_

"Get everyone possible to Arkham Asylum, now!"

_"Sir, may I ask who this is?"_

"Quincy Sharp, Warden of Arkham Asylum. He's gone!" A hacking cough, dangerously wet, sounded through the phone. His breath was labored, struggling for every bit of air his abused lungs could draw in. "The Joker, he's gone!"

_"Sir, please calm down and explain the situation."_

"He used a hostage, had a knife... I don't know where he got it, but he had it. Threatened to slit his throat, some of my men turned on me. There's blood everywhere, so many de-" He was cut off once more, a choking hacking forcing him to stop talking. He wheezed, desperate, terrified. "I've be-" A pause, deep breaths. "I've been stabbed. But don't waste time coming for me, he's insane. Dangerous. He has to be stopped."

_"Sir, I can't ge-"_

"JUST GET THE COPS!" He shrieked, "GET HI-"

The line went dead. Placing his hand on his chest, clenching a fist in his blood drenched shirt in fear.

"Now, now." A teasing voice tittered from above him. The room was dark, the only light streaming in from the window, the brilliant flames still illuminating the night. There was a momentary flicker of movement and Quincy Sharp closed his eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking up at him as he killed him. He had thought, hoped, _prayed_ that he'd left. He thought he was gone. "I know we need an audience, but we don't want the show to end too quickly, now do we?"

A breezy giggle, high pitched and hoarse as if it hadn't been used in a long time. "You know how I operate, doc. What were the words you used again. Narcissistic? Incapable of feeling remorse or empathy?" His eyes sharpened in the dim, the black eye makeup making the image all the more eerie. "Look at me."

Sharp breathed deeply, his body slowly turning cold as he bled out. He struggled, shaking his head.

There was a harsh intake in breath and suddenly a pair of glove-clad hands (Where had he gotten the gloves? How long had his men been planning on turning? How long had he not noticed? A man who made his living off knowing people's deepest, darkest secrets, completely unaware of his owns staffs betrayal?) clamped onto his chin with steely strength.

_"LOOK. AT. ME."_

His stomach lurched in fear, but he clenched his eyes tighter. He would not die at the whims of a madmen.

The voice turned softer, but the grip remained strong and unyielding. "Open your eyes, doc, before I slice those eyelids right off your face."

He could feel it, he knew he was dying, just a little more. Just a little longer, he didn't want the last thing he would see on this earth to be the monstrosity he allowed to be unleashed once more.

He didn't want the last thing he saw to be his failure.

The Joker sighed above him, although Quincy Sharp could not help but notice that he didn't seem to be overly disappointed. If anything, he seemed to be... Excited.

"Can't rely one anyone to do anything these days. Gotta do everything yourself."

* * *

He hadn't cried. He hadn't begged.

But it didn't matter, because _he_ had still won.

Like he always did.

Quincy Sharp drew a rattling final breath before collapsing to the floor, the burning bat insignia still reflected in his open eyes. The blood trail slowed as his heart ceased pumping it from the fresh incisions made from his missing eyelids, leaving trails of blood like tears streaking down his face.

* * *

The Joker practically skipped through the night, humming to himself despite the dangerous rage that bubbled beneath the surface. Honestly, you could not trust anyone you threatened these days, you really did have to do everything yourself. He had thought he had a good relationship with his sources but apparently not.

No, fear of Mr Quincy Sharp and his tough measures against him seemed to go as far as even his people, seeing as they chose to keep his dear Batman's return hidden away. He had been particularly furious to find newspapers dating back months about his dear Bats wreaking havoc through the city once more. Did they truly not think that after helping him escape, there would be no consequences for these actions? But no matter, they had paid dearly for their disloyalty and he was once again, a free man.

And all was again right with the world.

"La da da da dum." He sang quietly to himself, almost insulted at the lack of police cruisers. How on Earth was he supposed to hitch a ride back to Gotham if they didn't show up?

Like he said, couldn't count on anyone, not even Gotham's finest... Or the states finest, considering Gotham was under nuclear threat and all. He supposed they would be a tad busy, although he refused to believe they were ever too busy as to not even arrange a welcome back party!

But as he walked, his rage only grew, the toiling in his belly growing more unruly. Where were they? No doubt there was a merry chase being led through the streets of Gotham in search of his favorite rodent wannabe, but surely his city could not have forgotten about him so casually? Sure, the bridges were gone and the rivers were frozen and judging by those explosions there was definitely something _fun_ going on over there, but it was... Well, _him_. At least send state cavalry for him, he couldn't be expected to walk back into his own city, could he?

There was no fun to be had in walking.

Perhaps it was time to remind them of it. Who _really_ owned Gotham city.

He cackled to himself, his knife winking merrily in the light of the sun, reflecting the plane that flew through the sky carrying something rather large, no doubt the B-man's newest toy.

It flew at alarming speed, out over the useless bridges and into the harbour.

The Joker frowned, his hum dying in his throat as he watched the plane grow smaller and smaller, heading out over the sea.

Nuclear threat...

He wouldn't _dare_.

He refused to turn away as the plane became smaller and smaller in the distance.

He refused to turn, even when the light from the explosion turned almost blinding, his time in the darkness of Arkham making it harder for his eyes to adjust.

He refused to turn for a full ten minutes, slack jawed in denial.

No.

His Bats wouldn't dare commit _suicide_. The word wasn't in that nuts vocabulary.

It wasn't how it was supposed to work. He was supposed to die by _his_ knife. By _him_!

By cutting him up, slowly, piece by piece after he had mutilated his mind beyond repair and done the last bit of slow, agonizing torture, both physically and mentally.

The Batman was his. _His_ plaything and _his_ prey.

_He would be the one to kill him._

No, the Joker told himself slowly. There was still threats to his city and to imagine someone so determined to die by such a... Crude and disgustingly clichéd method was not possible.

He felt a low chuckle start in his throat, his grin widening as he watched where the Batman was last seen, almost expecting the silhouette to be seen against the sky, flying back to roost in his beloved city.

No, the Batman was still out there.

And if it was the last thing he did, he would find him.


End file.
